Almeida, London
11th March 2017, matinee
In an age where diversity,
modernity and innovation seem to carry the majority of critical clout in
theatrical circles, not to mention my disinclination to be lumped with the
doddery, backward views of some critics (see Michael Billington’s article –
unfounded, imo - lamenting the lack of ‘classics’ at the National Theatre), I
can’t help but think it is pretty uncool to be a fan of Shakespeare. Clichéd,
stuffy (I overheard two audience members discussing the need for a
‘Shakespearean voice’(???), a detractive notion which no doubt puts people off
engaging with older plays), and lacking a ‘real’ knowledge of theatre (and by
that I mean a broad knowledge of playwrights with an inclination toward the
contemporary) – all insecurities I feel as a result of a personal partiality to
the Bard.
Yet, honestly, I adore
Shakespeare. And as a self-confessed Literature swot, there’s nothing I love
more than analysing 16th Century drama. Yes, the theories are
usually timeworn and oft repeated, but I’m still young, so they’re new to me (something I feel more seasoned
theatre-goers should remember when criticising revivals of plays they’ve seen
numerous times as being old-hat), and I find them oh-so-fascinating! I could
spend pages proclaiming the beauty of the slightest deviation from iambic
pentameter, the significance of sexual/animal/planetary imagery (take your
pick!), or the intricate mechanics of tragedy with a capital ‘T’, throughout many
of Shakespeare’s plays, and thus I wear my fan status with pride. However, I
have recently found myself at a crossroads. Robert Icke’s production of Hamlet at the Almeida has dumbfounded
me. Why? Because for once I find no inclination to analyse. It seems futile to attempt to bestow any sort of
intellectual grandstanding onto his production because it is so profoundly
moving, intimate and humane it would feel wrong
to do so.
Icke’s production is one of
painful intimacy. Although aware of the outer world and political on-goings in
Denmark, this is very much outside
and separate – the Fortinbras/Norway
conflict is relayed through news reports on screens – laying bare the bones of
Shakespeare’s text as a tender family drama. This may be a royal family, but we
get the sense that this could easily be any family dealing with the anguishes
and throes of mortal life. Hildegard Bechtler’s set is furnished simply with
modern yet homely décor, and we become witness to the inner workings of domesticity
in crisis. Tender moments, such as Claudius and Gertrude’s dancing before
falling asleep on the sofa show theirs to be a marriage of love rather than
convenience, humanising the characters in a way that is often overlooked. While
I found Angus Wright’s Claudius a little too understated, bordering on the
monotonous, Juliet Stevenson is a very sympathetic Gertrude; her panic attack
following Polonius’ murder is believable and places her in a position of
conflicting loyalties. From the initial seeds of doubt planted by her son, when
the magnitude of the familial breakdown eventually dawns on her, her actions
are understandable, but nonetheless distressing.
The driving force behind the
tragedy in this case is grief. The family is torn apart and turned against each
other by an overwhelming sorrow. Hamlet (an extraordinary Andrew Scott) is
quietly intense, coming across as both ordinary (mortal) and exceptional
(certainly in regards to feeling/emotion) with natural ease. The softness with
which Scott speaks brings a prosaicness to his philosophising while simultaneously
radiating an exquisite truthfulness. The soliloquys were fresh, Scott’s nuances
making me wonder why Hamlet hasn’t always been performed like this, it was as
if I were hearing these words for the first time and understanding them with a
profound clarity. ‘To be or not to be…’ seemed so natural, obvious (in an
enlightening way), and true.
Similarly, the utter weariness with which he resigns himself to death – ‘the
readiness is all’ – is both heartbreaking and feels like an organic progression
within the character’s journey. We feel his sense of futility and his sheer
exhaustion through which he has doggedly continued despite spending all his
available energy on mourning the loss of his father and sense of familial
belonging. Introducing an element of personal experience and perspective, I
couldn’t help but consider Scott’s Hamlet as a man suffering from a deep and
profound depression. I welcomed the toning down of the ‘antic disposition’ –
aped or no – as this felt like a more concrete and relevant approach to
Hamlet’s mental state. His tearful breakdowns were poignant and his quietly dejected
speech all too familiar to those with experience of depression.
Never before has the Ghost (David
Rintoul) felt more tangible. The bond between father and son is to the fore,
from holding hands with the lost and despairing Hamlet, to the aching beat with
which Hamlet briefly recognises something familiar in the leading Player (also
David Rintoul). Similarly, the affection between Hamlet and Ophelia (Jessica
Brown Findlay) is genuine, they kiss and caress and care about each other;
parental intervention seems the ultimate tragic force in their doomed
relationship. Further adding to the domestic tragedy is the subtle insinuation
that Polonius’ (Peter Wight) famed misnomers and forgetfulness may be a result
of some sort of degenerative illness, such as Alzheimer’s – his pauses just a
little too long, his stature a little too pitiable to feel fully comfortable in
ridiculing him. This afforded his scenes a poignancy beneath the humour.
One of the most striking
alterations made by Icke is Claudius’ confession/prayer. Usually uttered alone
in the presence of God, here Hamlet appears onstage in front of him, creating
the impression of his confessing to Hamlet. While the staging is ambiguous –
does Claudius ever look Hamlet in the eye? – and I’m still unsure whether the
scene was wholly real, a dream, or some sort of split frame reference, it’s
something to ponder…
The culmination of such a
sympathetic and humane interpretation of the text and character’s motivations
and states of mind is realised in a scene of dazzling emotional beauty. The
Ghost reappears to guide his family into the afterlife – visually reminiscent
of the earlier wedding party: balloons, fairy lights, a warm bliss peopled by
old friends (Polonius, Ophelia). On paper this seems incredibly mawkish, but in
Icke’s hands it is anything but. Cynical critics and academics may shy away
from it, but ‘sentimentality’ is not a dirty word. This ending is sentimental
in the best sense; moving, compassionate, satisfying, and it fits the
production direction to a tee. By being so recognisably human it feels
thoroughly fresh and vital, and thus relevant to all our lives.
There is a tendency for an
overreliance on technology to feel cold and gimmicky, while reductively
distancing us from the human contact unique to live theatre. Yet Icke’s use of
a live video feed, transmitted to screens throughout the auditorium and a large
multiplex of screens onstage actually enhances the drama. Nuances of expression
are captured and magnified – we see Claudius’ minute reaction to the play, we
see the second Gertrude resolves to die in the steadfast glimmer of her eyes –
all details that may otherwise be missed by those at the back of the theatre
(as I was). Furthermore, the omnipresence of the camera concentrates the sense
of voyeurism, as every detail of the family’s lives is broadcast in every
unflattering angle. Icke has managed to unite modern cinematic techniques and
live theatre with startling efficacy, and I’m entirely won over by it! The
action is played out to a soundtrack of Bob Dylan classics – another triumph -
a subtle reference perhaps to social disorder and political unrest, but the
main point I got from it was the folk aspect; the generational effect, the
passing on of stories and the roles our predecessors play in our lives. Plus,
it’s just great music!
While I imagine Icke’s production
is not without its detractors – some of his decisions may be controversial to
purists – I loved it. Clear, compassionate and modern, Icke has transformed a
well-worn, ubiquitous classic ‘Tragedy’ into a contemporary family drama that
wouldn’t feel out of place on the ‘new releases’ shelf of any bookstore. But,
for me, his greatest coup de theatre lies in his
ability to make this academically minded blogger abandon thought and embrace feeling.
I doubt I will ever see Hamlet the
same again.
Hamlet plays at the Almeida until 15th
April.
Andrew Scott as Hamlet. Credit: Manuel Harlan |
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